


We Were There

by Valgus



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valgus/pseuds/Valgus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why do we make promise we can’t fulfil?"</p><p>Italy's wish since the very beginning had already been decided. He had never been wished to be with Germany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were There

When the world descended into chaos of World War III, Germany knew he had to brace for the worst. The world was so much more complicated now with developed technology and science. Now, he had to work out better strategy for his people and those he loved. He needed to plan everything accordingly if he wanted to continue existing. World war was always such a gruesome experience, for the last two left his people in long-term suffering. But Germany knew he had to do what he must do as a nation. That was part of the rule of being a fatherland.

On the other hand, there was another nation who seemingly forget that he was a fatherland as well. The one he kept close out of something as absurd as love, the one he allowed to disturb him while he made battle plan for the upcoming attack. The nation from Southern part of Europe, the nonetheless charming North Italy.

Italy had cried more than he cried on the first and second world war. Germany couldn’t do anything about it. He was busy with his own business that he couldn't take his sweet time with Italy to comfort him. Germany knew he still needed the auburn-haired nation, the only personification of country who ever admitted to be his true friend.

*)*

It was late at night and Germany was exhausted. Thankfully, he had finished stacking his works for the day and ready to head to bed. Germany would stand up now and started his before-bedtime ritual, if only Italy wasn’t insisting on asking him to go outside to see the stars.

Germany personally thought it was a security risk and he had warned the other nation about it. But being Italy he had always know, the amber-eyed male just shook his head and pleaded, fidgeting and moving his hands around as usual, “Just for now, please, Germany? We don’t know whether we can still see stars tomorrow night. We also don’t know—“

His words stopped flowing, but Germany knew what followed. _We also don’t know whether we’ll still be alive tomorrow._

So the blond nation smiled, patted Italy on the head twice, and followed the shorter of two outside, to cold night and clear starry sky. They found a spot a couple of minutes walking from Germany's residence. It was close enough to return quickly in case something happens, but far enough to get away from the human made light.

Snuggling to the Italy’s warmth and comfort, Germany couldn’t help but to feel melancholy. The blond nation knew very well that he could lose everything he had tonight, especially at the current moment; the comfort of having place to stay and rest, of having food, of having beautiful night, of having peaceful time, of being embraced by his lover…

Germany looked down at Italy, only finding that Italy was already looking at him. Italy’s amber eyes seemed to hold extra depth that night, even though it was quite dark in there. It seemed like those honey-coloured eyes reflected the stars above, of millions light years away galaxies no human or nation can ever touch. Squeezing the smaller nation to a gentle hug, Germany leaned down to kiss his partner.

To his surprise, Italy quickly moved away, breaking the silence and their hug.

“No!” he wailed so sudden.

Germany was left shock as Italy scrambled away from him, shuddering with tears gleaming from his eyes. 

“No! Don’t you _dare_! Don’t you dare doing this to me…” the southern nation started to sob as he stood, walking backward, away from Germany who wanted nothing more than comforting his upset lover. Germany was absolutely confused. One moment they sat against each other, the next moment Italy looked like Germany had just hurt him terribly when the blond nation only tried to express his love.

“Italy…” the larger man scooted closer, trying to wrap Italy on his arms, but Italy kept resisting, tearing up as he did.

“You _can’t_ do this to me again—you _can’t_ kiss me and promise me we’ll see each other again after the war but never return again! _You just can't!_ ” Italy screamed in a voice that Germany never heard before. His voice was full of pain, but also hatred—deep hatred. Germany was surprised to hear that Italy could make such voice. The time when he heard about Young Italy used to beat up Turkey was nothing compared to this.

Italy stood strong and still now. He was no longer shaking and nothing in his face was portrayed except fury.

“Italy…” cooed Germany calmly, reaching out for Italy once again.

“You are _not_ doing this to me again!” he growled angrily, teeth braced like angry animal.

Shocked, Germany retreated his reach.

“Italy,” Germany’s voice was no more than a whisper, a moment after he regained his composure. “I _never_ did that to you,” said the blond nation slowly, as gentle as he possibly could. “I never, _ever_ kissed you, promised you to see you after war, but not returning,” Germany walked closer and Italy didn’t try to move away like before.

The shorter nation looked up at him like he looked at a ghost of his dead enemy; utter shock and disbelief shook him so much that the whole thing alone might leave him dead.

“I _never_ did any of that,” Germany was the one who started to feel furious now, for his brain has processed what just happened. “Who are _you_ mistaking me with…?”

Italy started to regain his usual scared expression. Now he looked so scared, that Germany swore Italy was probably thinking that Germany would execute him right there. Italy started to shake his head, biting his low lip while tears were glistening on his cheeks.

Germany walked even closer until their chest and hips almost touched. He felt something close to rage but he couldn’t describe it. He was so angry. He was truly angry that he was calm. He knew exactly who Italy mistook him as. It was a nation that had perished, another fatherland who has the same blond hair and blue eyes. Another nation who was Italy's first love. Another nation he had heard from others like Austria and Hungary.

Another nation who had the same face with Germany.

Germany clenched his fist, gritting his teeth angrily as he whispered, “… Forget about Holy Rome.”

Italy looked up at him in disbelief—like Germany had just slapped him.

Germany could feel his first clenching and his body protesting in rage, “Holy Rome… was no good. He lied to you, Italy. He left you. He left you alone. You have every right to be angry, to hate him…” Germany now felt the urge to grab Italy, but he knew he would only hurt the other nation for he was so shock and angry at the moment. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, the taller nation chuckled bitterly, “But you _can’t_ , can you?”

Italy was sobbing at this point. He was sobbing so hard his whole body shook. Italy looked so pitiable, but Germany was too angry, too hurt to stop talking, forcing both of them to a conversation so uncomfortable but necessary.

“You _can’t_ , Italy, because to you, Holy Rome hasn’t died yet,” Germany continued mercilessly, his cold blue eyes boring into Italy’s watery eyes. Germany took Italy’s hands into his, squeezing them gently despite his anger, “Now you tell him, Italy…”

Italy quickly took his hands away from Germany’s, as if the blue-eyed nation's hand was burning his, “W-what are you talking about, Germany?”

Germany tried to hold Italy's hands again, a sad but sure smile was on his lips, “You tell _him_ everything… everything you haven’t told him yet. Everything you need to tell him.”

Italy shook his head, his eyes staring anywhere but back at Germany’s. He truly looked pathetic by avoiding Germany's stare and intention. Italy's voice was messed up by sob and sniffle by now, “Now? Germany, I have nothing to say to him now.”

“It’s not like that, Italy. There must be something you want to say—“

“Germany, _please_! I told you, I _don’t_ have anything to say to him…”

But Germany took his hands once again, his expression filled with determination. Italy finally looked up at him again after some moments. Germany held Italy’s hand a little tighter, his eyes on Italy's, “’You are a terrible person, Holy Rome’, ‘You’re so cruel’, ‘Why don’t you just go away and die?’ Whatever it is, I will listen to it. If Holy Rome was here… _what_ are you going to say to him?”

Italy was no longer crying. On the opposite, he looked completely calm. Germany had a feeling that Italy was setting his thought to really talk to Holy Rome- to the nation he hadn't yet let go.

> _If Holy Rome was here…_

Italy’s eyes were filled with longing—a longing Germany never saw before, a depth that the blond nation would never thought Italy was capable of. The sight made his chest hurt. Germany never saw Italy with such expression before.

Germany squeezed Italy’s hands once again, “If Holy Rome were now here, Italy… what are you going to say to him? Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Italy didn’t really look at Germany as he spoke, his voice sounded nothing like Italy he knew, a voice of younger him, perhaps; a voice used by auburn-haired nation only to the very special, “Holy Rome, you’re… a liar. You made promise you couldn’t fulfil. You left me hopeless. You left me alone. You—“ Italy stared into nothingness, but his amber eyes started to spill tears. His shoulders shook again.

“Italy…” Germany embraced Italy, who had covered his face in attempt to hide his tears, to hide his wretchedness and pain. “Oh Italy, you _can’t_ hate someone you love, right?”

With his face hidden behind his hand and his messy amber hair, Italy nodded, whispered as he trembled, “You’re right. I _can’t_.”

Germany stared at him through all the pain that suddenly grabbed him tightly that he wanted to sob as well.

Italy’s voice croaked as he spoke with tone so different that Germany knew he was finally talking to his late first love, “I... I... have forgiven you. I’ve forgiven everything, so… so please… _please_ … just come back safely, Holy Rome.”

> _Please just come back safely._
> 
> _Come back._

In that very moment, Germany felt like the ground under his feet has crumbled and he was falling into nothingness—a scary nothingness that felt like never-ending darkness.

Italy _still_ wanted Holy Rome to return safely.

His wish since the very beginning was already decided.

Germany stared at Italy, who didn’t stare at him. Germany felt his cheeks became wet and warm from tears he didn’t realised he shed. A single word was being played in repeat in his head, each repetition hit him like a drum. 'Liar, liar, liar...'

Italy _was_ lying.

He had been all along.

All that friendship. All that love. All that ‘you’re my only friend—my only lover.’ They were all lies. Italy had never been truly honest to him. All those times, Italy was waiting for Holy Roman Empire to return. And the most painful thing was Italy _still_ did.

Everything was lie.

Germany got a grip on himself. He didn't bother trying to wipe away tears from his cheeks, for there were too many, though he did attempt to clear his throat. “Italy,” the taller nation tried to make his voice didn’t sound like he was crying, “I _can’t_ take this any more. I can't. I… can’t make you happy."

Italy finally looked at him again. The auburn-haired nation was no longer sobbing. He only stared blankly at Germany, as if he knew this was coming- like he had said everything he ever wanted to say to anyone.

> _I’ve forgiven everything,_
> 
> _So please just come back safely,_
> 
> _Holy Rome._

Germany shook his head, holding back tears threatening to fall again, “I can’t fulfil my promise to always protect you. I... can no longer do that. I’m so sorry, Italy. I’m truly sorry.”

The blond nation let go of Italy's hands and turned around, leaving Italy alone underneath the bright, starry night sky.

Italy just stood there, with empty gaze and cheeks wet with warm tears.

If Italy didn’t hate Holy Rome, perhaps he would be destroyed by sadness. Maybe that was how he coped up with his loss.

 _Why_ do we make promise we can’t fulfil?

 _Who_ was betraying who, really?

> _Everyone_
> 
> _Was dreaming._
> 
> _They were all_
> 
> _Dreaming a happy dream._

Italy stood in silence. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. 

> _As many times as I was with you,_
> 
> _That was how many times you lied to me,_
> 
> _Didn’t it get boring after sometime?  
>  _
> 
> _We kept fighting and we kept making up.  
>  _
> 
> _If this keeps happening,_
> 
> _we’ll hate each other and we won’t be happy._
> 
> _But…_
> 
> _Even though they call me silly, stupid,_
> 
> _Or even if they call me animal_
> 
> _I will throw away all my pride and composure_
> 
> _Because_
> 
> _I don’t want anything_
> 
> _As long as you told me_
> 
>  
> 
> _That you **love** me._

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps some of you had already pick this up by the title alone, but for those who don't, this is basically the last part of the last chapter of fourth volume of "Bokura Ga Ita" or "We Were There" by Yuuki Obata. Basically, it's a story of two people in a relationship trying to overcame the death of one partner's, who left him in betrayal.
> 
> I think it's little like GerIta with HRE, even though HRE didn't exactly betrayed Italy. I guess it depends on how you look at it, though... I personally think that if HRE knew he was crippling and in the verge of death (as portrayed rather clearly canonically), he shouldn't promise Italy that he would meet him after the war, for he knew the possibility of never coming back at all. But I'll leave that decision to you.
> 
> "Bokura Ga Ita" has superb story and visual (the way Yuuki Obata place images, text, blank space, perspective, and all that are just simply amazing), unlike any shoujo manga I've ever read and I'm forever staggered by the strength of heart some people (albeit they're fictional) can muster. It's very very angsty, though, so I don't recommend it to you unless you want to get really messed up by a shoujo manga. This experience, however, does differ from one person to another.
> 
> That aside, thank you for reading my (messy) drabble. I hope you don't hate me too much for making Germany realising that Italy never loved him, not even a single bit, and only putting the image of Holy Rome on him as he waited for the long dead nation to return.
> 
> Constructive criticism or angry wailing are very welcomed.


End file.
